OTR building's German history scorned no more

In 1877, this Over-the-Rhine building was called Deutsche Gegenseitige Versicherungs Gesellschaft von Cincinnati. Translation: German Mutual Insurance Co. of Cincinnati. The German name was covered during WWI.
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It has always been a lovely building – four stories of limestone and intricate detail. What made it so wrong was that it represented a brief but ugly chapter in Cincinnati history.

The Renaissance revival building at 12th and Walnut streets went up in 1877, and even in a German part of town, Over-the-Rhine, this building was extraordinarily Teutonic. It was built by an immigrant named Rattermann, it had a statue of Germania built into the design, and then there was the name: Deutsche Gegenseitige Versicherungs Gesellschaft von Cincinnati.

That became a problem starting 100 years ago when World War I began, the Lusitania was torpedoed and everything German became suspect. The language stopped being taught in public schools, people were fired from their jobs, street names were changed and pretzels disappeared from bars. Too Germanic.

The name of this lovely building was covered up for a century, never seen again – until now.

Last week the name was revealed again.

"It honors the German heritage of the city, and it rights a wrong of the past," said Don Heinrich Tolzmann, president of the German-American Citizens League of Greater Cincinnati. For a long time Tolzmann hoped to bring the building back to its original state.

Kelly Murphy, who owns the building with her husband, first learned of the covered name when they bought the building five years ago. Then Tolzmann reminded them.

When it was time to paint the building, Murphy said it was time to bring back history. "It was something we really wanted to do. It felt important," Murphy said.

City Councilman Chris Seelbach, a longtime resident of OTR and a descendant of German immigrants, fully supported the change and helped clear the path.

Seelbach knew the city's history, he knew of the fear and hysteria, and he thought it was time to correct at least one thing. "It was a way to uncover the fear and honor our German heritage," Seelbach said. "It's great to honor that. I was glad to be a part of it."

It is difficult to remember how troubled those times were, now that Bockfest booms, people drink Rhinegeist and every new house is seemingly a "haus." But in 1914, when the war began, things began to feel uncomfortable in the German-American and German immigrant community.

At the time, more than half the residents of Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky were either born in Germany or had German parents, according to Tolzmann. The Germans built churches and opened businesses and had made this their home.

When the war began in Europe in 1914, some people wondered how the Germans here felt. In truth, it was complicated. World War I was not popular, and many Americans – of all ethnicities and races – thought the country should stay out of the conflict.

"They (German-Americans) had mixed emotions; they tried to keep the United States out of the war," Tolzmann said. "It was a heartbreaking experience."

The reality is that many Americans had no interest in fighting in Europe. "Most Americans were isolationists" said Scott Gampfer, director of the Cincinnati History Library and Archives and History Collections at the Cincinnati Museum Center. "And before our (American) involvement in the war, many Germans here were sympathetic to German causes. They raised money for war relief."

After the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915 and after it became increasingly likely that American would join the war, Germans and German-Americans were questioned about their American-ness. And it got ugly.

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The figure of Germania is a 25-foot key feature to the Renaissance Revival building in OTR. She represents the German spirit and culture.(Photo: The Enquirer/ Madson Schmidt)

Some businesses were boycotted, German-language books were removed from libraries and some people changed their names. By police order, according to the Ohio Historical Society, only German could not be used in public meetings. Bremen Street became Republic Street.

"A pall of suspicion fell over the city," Gampfer said. "But the hysteria was not founded on anything real. It became ridiculous."

This was when the building at 12th and Walnut covered its name. The Deutsche Gegenseitige Versicherungs Gesellschaft von Cincinnati firm became the German Mutual Insurance Co. of Cincinnati. Better for business, fewer questions.

The statue built into the building, the lovely Germania, became Columbia. "E Pluribus Unum" was chiseled into her gown. (However, many people still know the building as the Germania, due to the statue.)

This hysteria began to fade, oddly, when America did enter the war. German-Americans signed up or were conscripted like all other people here. "Many felt compelled to prove their loyalty," Gampfer said. "And they fought valiantly."

Over time, Cincinnati began to move on from this period. German-Americans and German immigrants were more accepted. During World War II, there was far less suspicion and, in most places, none at all. The dark history of fear became a memory.

And last week, a basket crane was raised up to the fourth floor of the building on 12th and Walnut and the final board covering the original name of the building was removed. "Truth triumphs," Tolzmann said.

And one block away, on 13th and Walnut, a century of wind and sun was beginning to uncover even more history. The paint over a boarded business has faded enough now that the name underneath that paint is beginning to emerge.